Atomic Punk
by Fade Absolut
Summary: -On Hiatus- Henley pretty much wants everyone to leave her alone. Only, SHIELD gets involved when an explosion occurs at her college. Also, robots. Did I mention the robots? Planet Earth might be in trouble. Really, she doesn't want any part in saving the universe. . .
1. Chapter 1

**So, I thought I'd give the Avengers a go. Like it? Hate it? Let me know how it sounds. I have some plot points already, but nothing is actually concrete. Might take a little bit to get me updating, though. I haven't written these guys in a while.**

**Also? Henley (OC) uses some language, so. . . Warnings on that. Otherwise, nothing else at the moment.**

**-Oh, right. I do plan on writing romance into this, too. I'm almost set on OC/Cap, but OC/Barton might also come into play. .. Which is actually amusing, since the characters I like most are Stark and Banner. . . Heh. Nevermind. You guys have any input on the love issue? Let me know about that, too. I'll take everything into consideration.**

**Anyways. . .**

**Disclaimer: I own Henley, Sloane, and the Machine[s]. Not the Avengers**

**Entry #0. Thunderstruck.**

It tumbles down, down, down through the clouds in glinting silver blurs. You might look up, but you won't see anything, not amidst the black skies or the lightning strikes ripping apart the empty wastelands. Even when it crashes to the sands, leaving a smoking impact crater with strange, greenish sparks spitting into the night, you hear thunder roaring but nothing else. You sense the earth shaking, but. . .tremors are common here across the military perimeter.

No one cares. No one suspects. No one. . .

Inside the hour, black vehicles arrive onto the scene. It crouches inside the crater, clicking its gears, waiting. Greenish lenses retract in consideration as the soldiers approach with readying weapons. It takes less than ten seconds to gather the statistics while it waits.

Names. Ranks. Numbers. Data streams through its expanding networks. It clicks again, downloading collective notes on. . .anything. Everything. About this planet, these creatures. It even begins assembling some basic translator system to grasp their thick, harsh language. . .when the shots ring out.

Humans act with hostile intentions. It automatically assumes its counteractive stance, clutching at the strange, metalliac pieces in its claws. Soldiers resort to. . .unknown actions. It pulls the trigger on its blackisk metals, bursting out vicious, blinding clusters that blow out like shattering glass. Solderis scream. Soldiers die.

It shoots back with these metals to protect its hardware unit, not comprehending their bizarre military tactics. Unless, they aim to capture, not disable, which is going to hinder its progress on a massive scale. . .

Within nanoseconds, it weighs its percentages. Capture may be necessary. Soldiers will take this unit to a secure block to conduct research. . .where main intelligence systems will be available. It can locate the specimen easier on their government equipment. . .as these humans might not be as primitive as initially thought.

So, it lowers its weapons in the same instant that an immense electromagnetic pulse sweeps through the crater. It quickly deactivates its own network, making its unit appear. . .unconscious, in human terms. But, it stays awake, stays silently aware, as the soldiers creep closer to investigate.

It needs to locate the specimen. It needs to be taken back to the Consensus.

**Entry #1. Static Discharge.**

His name is Sunday. It says so on his badge. Again, he writes something down in his little notebook. Again, he looks like he might have to resist heaving this huge sigh. Lights are blinking everywhere, bluish, reddish, bouncing against the glass that litters the pavement like broken stars. Everyone on the streets is watching us.

It kinda sucks.

"Okay. One more time, please." He stresses his words too much. Like he has a headache. I really want to take that little notebook and slap him with it. Maybe, it might distract him long enough to let me escape. . .

Or, maybe, it might get me a night in prison. Yeah. Do I have another plan? Well, not with all these witnesses.

He does sigh, this time. "Ma'am? Miss Henley?" He prompts again. "Please, your cooperation. . ."

"I am cooperating." I try not to snap back. "Seriously, you think I meant to do this?" I wave my arms in some vague direction, since the smoke is sorta everywhere. Plus, the sirens. More trucks are piling into the campus as the blaze rages on. I think I saw Fox News somewhere in this mess, too.

Shit. It's like a circus show. I hate the damn circus.

"Calm down, Miss Henley." Sunday instructs in that slow, annoying manner he has. "I only want to help you. Now, what were you doing in the labs?"

I give a violent twitch. "What are students usually doing in the labs?" I grit through clenching teeth. Really. Do I have to spell it out? How is this even happening? Someone upstairs hates me. . .

Sunday waits, narrowing his gaze in obvious displeasure. His pen hovers motionless above his notebook. I want to smash it straight into his neck.

"I was studying." I repeat, copying his agonizing speech pattern. "Sometimes, Dr. Watts gets new supplies in. He lets me test them. Whoever sent that previous order got something horribly wrong, as you can see." I gesture towards the burnt destruction that was once the Science Hall.

It hits me harder than I thought. Honestly, I almost choke up when I glimpse the remnants through the smoke. It. . .was practically my other home. Actually, I spent more time in the labs than at my true house. Is that pathetic? Probably, a little. I don't even care.

"Clearly, those chems weren't in the right packets. So, when I went to create a simple mixture. . ." I clear my throat, quickly looking away. "Well, yeah." I mutter. "You know the rest, apparently."

He makes another note in his book. Does he really have to write everything down? I mean, I spoke to three other badges earlier. I'm not some terrorist. I don't want to hurt anyone. . .much. Except, maybe Sunday. But I don't think that was the point. . .

Anyways. I shove my hands into my hoodie pockets, even though the bandages make it a bitch to try. Paramedics say that my palms were the worst, since the toxic substance ate straight through the test tubes I was using. Seriously. It was like a parasite. I've never seen anything like it.

It hurts, too. A lot. Pills help, though my hands keep throbbing no matter where I put them. I think it ate through a couple layers in my skin, too. Not deep enough to lose bone matter, but still deep enough to bake some wires. Scars, I bet. I'll have them covering my palms when they eventually get better.

In the mean time. . . I hang my chin, moping. I'm not gonna be able to do anything. Not work. Not college. Not experiments. Not even video games, not with these damn plasters on. Fuck.

I bow my shoulders in sudden, miserable exhaustion. Sunday might have been talking again. Whatever. "Hey, um. May I leave?" I interrupt with a sigh. "I have to. . .go." I turn away, because it doesn't matter. I don't want to hear his voice anymore.

Great. Fox News is storming the barricades, now. I take the distraction as the escape route I was hoping to have, then melt into the growing crowds without a single glance back.

It takes ten sluggish minutes to reach my car, when I swear I was only about two minutes out. When I get to the space, I stare through the windows at the ignition, where the keys are still hanging. Not that I can drive, either, but. . . Really. How did I manage to lock them inside?

I hate this. So much.

Fighting with my pockets, I slump against the passenger tire, lower, lower, where no one can see me. When I eventually manage to wrestle my phone out. . . I only stare down at it with a blank expression. Because, I can't even press the damn buttons.

Sloane will have to turn on the television eventually. Right? Maybe, he might think to get me when he notices my picture on the news.

"Miss?"

I glance up, squinting angrily at the latest person blocking out the sunlight. Who the hell is it, now? More badges? I'm gonna start hurting people, soon.

"Are you assholes stalking me?" I grumble. "I'm done answering lame questions. Leave me to wallow in my misery alone." But, as the moments pass. . . I realize that this man isn't an ordinary badge.

First? He wears this sharp black suit. Plus, his straight stance, his arrogant expression, his shiny black shoes. . . Everything about him screams government. Not awesome. Not in the slightest. He wears these dark sunglasses, too. Like he needs to look as much like a dick as possible.

"No can do, kiddo. Sorry." He smirks. His teeth are white, straight. In the sunshine, they wink like pearls. "We're not. . .really stalking you." He takes a deliberate pause. "More like keeping a close eye on."

I blink. "Excuse me, buddy?" I deadpan.

He doesn't. . . He can't know. . . I swallow uneasily. Can he? No, no. No one knows anything. Even the paramedics, they didn't get close enough to see. I didn't let them see. . .

Regardless, the man ignores my attitude. "Henley, right? Okay, listen up, Lee." He clears his throat dramatically. "I'm Agent Barton with. . ." He pulls out some business cards, like he might be about to give a speech. Seconds pass. He glances at them, then glances at me over those sunglasses.

"Aw, screw it." He tears the cards up, tosses the scraps over his shoulder. "I'm Clint Barton. You gotta come with me, kiddo. SHIELD has to talk to ya."

Um, sure. He might be a little unorthodox. . .or crazy. But, I'm not going anywhere with anyone. Especially with anyone government. So, I struggle to get up, wondering how I can lose him in this parking lot. He looks like he can move pretty quickly when he wants to. . .

"Yeah. . . I'm gonna take a rain check on that, Agent Barton." I edge backwards, towards the sidewalk. He observes my every movement like a damn hawk, even with those glasses on.

I am. . .probably going to die. Shit.

"Nice to know that the government is watching me, though. Really appreciate the concern you guys have." I give a nervous chuckle, waving my plasters. "So, right. I'm gonna. . ."

I don't bother to tell him goodbye. Cars honk as I bolt out into the street. He might be calling me, but I don't look back. I swerve through the oncoming lanes, heart choking up somewhere in my throat like sandpaper chunks. It can't. . . I mean, I thought this was a nightmare to begin with. . .

Fuck. I keep running, even when the campus shrinks into the distance. My legs ache. My chest burns. I actually want to die by this point, but. . . I keep going. Are they going to be at my house, too? What about Sloane? Oh, shit. Sloane doesn't know anything. I can't let them hurt him to get to me. I won't.

Everything is swimming. Really, I'm gonna throw up, then pass out. Somehow. . . I make it into a taxi without doing either. My hands might be about to break apart, though. Meds usually make me sick to my stomach, but there was no way not to take them earlier. It hurts too much. It still hurts too much. . .

Ten minutes, ten hours. . . However many years later, I shove some cash at the driver, then stumble out onto my lawn with these thick, electric currents zipping through my body. My hands, especially. I can see the plasters beginning to smoke as my panic skyrockets, because. . .hey, Agent Barton is standing on my steps.

What. The. Fuck.

"We can do this the easy way, kiddo." He spreads his arms to his sides. "All my boss wants to do is talk to you. Promise. No one has to get hurt."

I gasp out, trying to think. . .trying to stay calm. He knows where I live. . . What else does he know? Oh, no. Please, no. . . Not here. Not now! I drop to my knees as the pressure builds, like a balloon, about to pop. Inside my ears. Inside my head. I clench my hands tight enough to make the pinkish wounds open anew, plasters melting into the grass with reddish streams.

It's never been like this. . .not like this.

Barton might be sprinting over. Everything is. . .green. Numbers. Currents. Across my eyes. Everywhere. Slams against my brain like raging ocean waves. I'm choking, spitting up wet heat as strong hands grab my arms. Tastes like rust, like gasoline. Fuck. I can't even breathe.

Seriously, I'm crashing over the edge. Static crackles amidst other sounds, drowning out the city in a white noise rush. I'm tumbling down, down, down into that green abyss, clinging to this man like he might be the single tether keeping me planetside.

Maybe, he is. Maybe. . .he wants to help. I don't know. I don't care anymore. I have to get to Sloane. . . I have to. . .stay awake.

It doesn't work. Barton grips my chin, tries to get me to look at him, to keep me speaking. I can't, though. I can't do it. I don't notice anything else but his blue eyes in the darkness when it swallows me whole.

I'm sorry, Sloane. Shit, I'm so sorry. . .


	2. Chapter 2

**You guys. . .are awesome! Thank you so much for all the reviews, alerts, etc! I'm glad some people like this so far =)**

**Anyways, here's the next part! Cap isn't in this one. . . But he will be coming up soon. Like I mentioned earlier, though, I'm a little rusty with writing the Avengers, so let me know if anyone seems too OOC or anything.**

**Enjoy!**

**Warning[s]: Some Language. Frustrated Barton.**

**Entry #2. Storm Bait.**

I wake up to bright lights in my eyes. Not sunshine bright, but operating room bright. White. Fluorescent. Like blunt knives scratching against my brow. Scowling, I scrunch up my expression as I attempt to swat them back.

". . .the hell? Go away."

In seconds, the lights have gone. Blurry shadows slowly, agonizingly, take shape in the space above me. It takes longer than that to remember. . . What even got me into this mess to begin with.

Like, the explosion. Like, the wounds on my hands. Like, the man in the dark suit, wanting to kidnap me. Oh, right. Forgot about that part. Forgot about that almost meltdown, too. Shit. Which means, Agent Barton knows. I bet my contacts are already dissolving, so. . . My disguise is pretty much shot.

"Miss Henley?"

I groan in repsonse, digging my sore palms into my retinas. Apparently, my hands got better. I mean, not completely, but the sharp pains are more tolerable than they were. I can already see the thin scars across raw, pink skin when I cover my expression with them. Sometimes, those electric currents go a little haywire, but. . . Damn. Nothing like that.

Seriously. I don't shoot lightning bolts. I don't have amazing regeneration powers. I don't really do anything, yet. . . Maybe, it was stress that made everything short circuit. I don't know.

"Sloane?" I mutter, trying to ignore the sour, rusty taste in my mouth. "You touch my brother, I swear. . ."

He sighs. I don't think it's Agent Barton. But, who else is here? Am I even at my house? I thought I was on the grass. . .or the sidewalk. I better not be in the emergency room, or someone is going to get hurt.

"It's okay, Miss Henley." He attempts to reassure. "No one has gotten to him, I promise you."

Gotten to him? What the hell does that mean? I struggle to sit up, heat gathering along my arms, my wrists. He gently takes my shoulder. . . Or, he tries to, but yanks his hand back again when I accidentally shock him.

"Watch it there, Sparky." Someone warns.

I glance towards the other voice, ears twitching in recognition. It can only be. . . Yep. Agent Barton approaches us with his hands in his suit pockets. He manages a tight grin, gone in another blink as he stops next to us.

"Don't worry, kiddo. Sloane is with Kaidan Lane. His cousin, yeah?" He nods. "We got him out. No problems."

Um. . .okay. I keeping squinting as I massage my aching temples, because. . . Yeah. I have no idea what is going on here. Sighing, I give another glance to the man kneeling beside me. He looks like a doctor. Or, he's acting like one. Worn expression. Dark eyes. Slight, understanding smile.

"I know this is. . .horrible." He admits, sounding sheepish. "But, we only want to help you, Miss Henley. You hurt your hands. . ." He moves to study them, which sets the alarms ringing in my brain.

No. No one touches me.

I quickly cross my arms, blushing beneath both their intent stares. Horrible is kinda an understatment, buddy. I know that my eyes are probably. . .nothing like they have ever seen. I'm gonna have to buy more contacts. Gloves, too. I can't. . . Shit. I can't believe that this, whatever this is, is actually happening.

"Okay. No. I gotta get some things straight." I tell them bluntly. "First. I know Barton, but I don't know you." I give the other man. . .a glare slightly less harsh. "You work with this SHIELD company, too?"

He hesitates, then removes his glasses. His clothing is pretty ordinary, in comparison to Barton. Slacks. Sleeves. Boatshoes. He doesn't seem the government type. But, hey. You never know with these people.

"Uh, no. I don't work with them." He slowly admits. "I'm a scientist, not an agent. Dr. Bruce Banner."

I have no clue why, but that simple revelation helps me calm down. His brown eyes are open, honest. I try to draw strength in them as I sort though this swarm inside my thoughts.

"You sent Sloane to Michigan." I repeat. "What does he know about this? What does he know. . ." I swallow. ". . .about me?"

Barton shrugs. "Nothing. You don't want him to know, right?"

I immediatly shake my head. "As long as he's okay. . . I don't want him knowing anything. Not that it matters, considering I don't really know anything. . ." I scratch my neck, heaving this huge sigh. "What do you mean, you want to help me? I'm not broken, guys. I'm only. . .having a really shitty day."

"Hey. I was gonna explain the situation to you." Barton raises his brows. "You wouldn't hear me out. Not to mention your laser lights show that knocked out the power in the entire block. . ."

Dr. Banner looks up at him. "Clint." He admonishes.

Barton shrugs again. "What?" He tries to play innocent, blue eyes wide. "Come on, I'm telling the truth, Banner. You know. . ." He gestures to the street lamps above us, which happen to be broken. Glass covers the pavement like glittering blankets.

". . .more or less a couple details." He adds lightly.

Yeah. Wait. . .what? I stare at the smoking street lamps with this unpleasant sensation crawling beneath my skin. Damn. I really did that? Um. . .oops. I screw up the power at my house, sometimes. . . But, the whole block? Really? Huh.

"Fine." I mutter. "Whatever. You can tell me the truth now, okay? I'm listening."

Dr. Banner smiles, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes. "I'm sorry, Henley. Really. But, we don't have a choice, either. We have to take you with us." He seems pretty sincere, too. I don't know why I believe him. . .

But, I do. He helps me up, when the realization hits me square in the chest. I look over at my house, stomach clenching, because. . . I might not be coming back here again. So, not only have I lost my sanctuary, my lame science class, but. . . I'm also losing my true home. All in one damn day. How shitty is that luck?

"Um." I stop, some distance back, while the men are walking towards a slick, black vehicle in my driveway. "Can I take some things with me? Not everything, but. . ." I shrug, because it really isn't their business. "Some things? Is that okay?"

Barton and Dr. Banner exchanges glances. I roll my eyes. "Seriously, guys. I'm not gonna run again." I cross my arms over my shirt. "But, I'm also not going anywhere without my backpack. So. . . I'll be right out." I don't wait to hear their answers as I turn.

As I reach my doors, they swing open. Barton grasps them with a strange expression, his tight, awkward smirk making another reappearance.

"Hey. . . I'm sorry about earlier, Lee." He shrugs. "Orders are orders, though." He rubs his neck, lets the doors swing shut behind us.

I turn on some lights and try not to think about it. "Yeah, I know." I mutter. It's not okay, but, I get his position. He casts some glances at the movie shelves, the video game cabinets, while I move down the hallway. Seconds later, I hear his clothing whisper near my shadow, never too close, yet never wandering away.

Well, I can see why he is some secret government agent. He has those stealth skills down to a damn science.

"It's a nice place." He hums conversationally.

I don't want to do this. I really, really, don't. "Stop." I mumble, pushing into my quiet, empty bedroom. "Please."

His brows draw together as he leans against the doorway. But, he lets me be as I take my spare bag to my desk. While I shove in some books, music, extra socks, he studies the posters strewn across the walls. Most have to do with the universe. Stars. Comets. Planets. Graphs. Charts. Space has always been my passion, as much as I love blowing things up with my chemistry sets or messing with scrap metals.

I glance at the sleek, silver telescope set up near the windows. Sloane actually bought that. It was the best birthday present I have ever been given. . .

Scowling, I brush at my eyes. Yeah, the last thing I want is to cry with the secret agent watching me. Shit. I quickly go to my dresser, where my gaze lands on a photograph that I have stuck to the mirror. Two kids, sticking their tongues out at the camera. One has blue hair. One has green spikes. Sloane has his glasses on, too. It was so long ago, even though. . . I still have those lame blue streaks growing out above my shoulders.

I shove the picture into my bag, gulping down slow, deep breaths. It's pretty heavy in a couple minutes, so I have to carry my worn scrapbook. But, it won't get bent this way, either. Eventually, I approach Barton again.

"Set, kiddo?" He asks.

His blue eyes look like dark ocean waves in the gloom. I try not to look at them as I return to the hallway, because I think I actually will start crying. So, I ignore the question, opting to change the topic.

"Your boss wants me, since. . ." I point to my own gaze. "Right? With you guys watching me, you must have access to the college security system on campus. You probably know about. . .everything." I conclude dully, losing the energy to even be angry.

What's the point? I can't do anything about this, anyways. Might as well attempt to get along with the kidnappers. . .

"We only know what we've seen in the tapes." Barton admits. He seems apologetic. Even, a little guilty, when he averts his stare and tightens his lips. "Your eyes are something new, though. You've been wearing contacts."

I blow out a breath. "I kinda have to, buddy. You think I honestly wanna attract attention with glowing green eyes?"

He snorts. "Yeah, point taken." He pauses, then, adopts a more serious look when we reach the doors. "We know that you've never been sick. Not even once. We know about your intelligence, despite your pretty lousy attempts to remain below the radars. We know about your. . .talents, with machines. Which is really the main reason the bossman wants to see you." His tone hardens. "SHIELD needs your help."

I stare at him. He opens the doors into the sunlight, and I'm staring at him with rocks settling in my stomach. I don't move. I can't. Hearing him. . .makes it so much worse. Knowing that the government has been aware since, I don't even know. Maybe, they've always known.

"What do you mean. . .my, talents?" I ask, voice hoarse. "You. . .you guys. . ." I struggle to remember how to string letters together. "You've been listening?" I manage to rasp, ignoring the buzz in my pulse as panic begins to stir.

Barton nods. HIs shoulders twitch, like he might be trying to repress a sigh. "Yeah, we sorta have to. You were unlike anything. . ." He clears his throat, smoothing his expression over. "You were unlike anyone that we've ever taken an interest in."

It sticks like a blade between my ribs. It was an accident, yeah. . . But, he must think it, since he let it slip out. "Unlike anything, huh?" I grunt, elbowing past him, suddenly desperate to get outside.

"You can say it, you know. You don't think I'm human." I almost choke on the words as the humiliation vibrates through me.

I know that I've never been close with people. I know that I've kept alone, kept to my experiments. . . I know that I'm strange, but. . . How can I not be human? What rights do they have to assume otherwise?

"Hey, Lee. I didn't mean it like that." Barton matches my pace easily, expression twisting with some dark, unknown emotion. "Come on, though. You can talk to computers! How is that actually possible?" He attempts to argue. "You interact with anything that has wires or electricity. . . You even have wires as veins! Does that honestly seem human to you?"

Dr. Banner was on the phone, pacing near the vehicle as we were approaching. As soon as those words are outta that big damn mouth, though, he stops completely. He shoots Barton a steady glare and snaps his phone shut.

"I guess cooperation was asking too much." He sighs heavily. "How is this productive, Clint?" His question has a thick, silent strength to it. Like, he can be demanding without even having to raise his voice. "We're on edge, yeah. You don't have to beat her over the head with this, though. She has no idea what's happening."

I wrench open the back door in the vehicle, clenching my teeth as the tears burn. "Yeah, believe it or not, but the damn robot has emotions." I spit, then slam the door when I climb inside. I'm shaking. I am literally shaking. Everything is screaming, swarming with static that shoots through my limbs, condenses inside my palms.

On the lawn, both men are exchanging words and wide, sweeping gestures. I don't listen to them. I can't even hear them, not with this white noise crackling inside my ears. So, I'm a science experiment to SHIELD. I'm not even human to the people that they sent to collect me.

Fuck. . . I can't. . .

It burns. Everywhere. I shake my hands out on instinct, cascading greenish sparks across the leather interior. Really, I want to rip this damn car apart. But, yeah. I bet more violent explosions are only gonna make this worse. I mean, these guys are above everday badges. I can't do anything that might put Sloane in danger. . .

Shit. I lean over my knees, hiding my tears in my palms. When the doors eventually open, I'm breathing a little easier, headphones blasting music to calm my trembling nerves. No one says anything else as Dr. Banner begins to drive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning[s]: Language. More Frustrated Barton. No Cap, yet. . .**

**Note: I'm a sucker for plot and character development, so, if I get around to it, this may be a long story. . . Also, I adore JARVIS. He doesn't get enough love, so expect him to pop up frequently, too.**

**Entry #3. Energy Loss.**

Between here, there, wherever we might be going, I pass out in exhastion when we hit the interstate. I think my headphones got caught on something, since, when I wake again, I can hear Dr. Banner and Agent Barton talking in low voices.

It's dark outside the windows, too. I must have been out a while.

". . .is working on something as we speak, Clint." Dr. Banner murmurs. His tone is so calm, so patient. I blink drowsily, leaning against the glass as the city lights blur over the horizon.

Barton grunts. "Right. How long has it been? Weeks, Bruce. How much do we even know? Nothing. She. . . She might not. . ." His words stop, like they get stuck in his throat. He shakes his head and turns to the passenger window.

I stay quiet, holding my worn scrapbook close while I watch Dr. Banner in the rearview mirror. His eyes look almost black, glancing towards Barton with unmistakable concern amidst his own exhaustion.

"We're going to solve this." He tries to reassure the agent. "She is going to wake up."

Hmm. . . I consider asking about this strange conversation, but I really don't want to give Barton another excuse to act like an asshole. Dr. Banner notices me, regardless. His gaze catches mine in the mirror, a slight smile quirking his lips.

"Hey." He pauses. "You holding up back there?"

You know? I kinda like this man, despite our lousy circumstances. He's not really like anyone else I have ever met. . .

"I sorta have to be." I reply dryly. "We there yet?"

He raises his brows. "Almost. You didn't seem this eager earlier. . ."

I snort, crossing my arms over my scrapbook. Barton isn't moving, isn't speaking. He doesn't seem to be ignoring us, only lost in his own thoughts as he observes the approaching city. It doesn't look like Boston anymore, so. . . I'm guessing, New York, given the buildings.

Fine with me, Barton keeping his mouth shut, anyways.

"I'm not eager about anything." I meet his eyes again, but my growling stomach answers his unspoken question.

Dr. Banner chuckles. "We're taking you back to. . .our headquarters, I guess, tonight. You can have something to eat, get some rest." He shrugs. "Tomorrow, the Director has to see you, though. He wants to explain everything in person."

"Oh. Um, okay. Thanks." His simple admission surprises me. I thought I was kinda like a prisoner, to be honest. Huh. Barton says that these government people want my help, so, maybe. . .I'm not a prisoner. Yet. Unless I tell his bossman to shove his orders up his ass.

I sigh and rub my temples, squinting through the slight, buzzing pain starting up near my eyes. Meds don't work. I think it has something to do with the whole. . .wires, not veins, issue. So, I have to stick the headaches out. On occassion, they can get pretty terrible. I can already tell that this one is going to suck.

It takes about an hour to get into the city. Yep, New York. Awesome. I try not to cringe when we drive past an advertisement on the Giants. . . Since, you know, I've got Patriots patches on my backpack. Bastards. . .

Anyways, I do cringe some minutes later, because the pain in my temples is bordering on nauseating. I miss the glances that Dr. Banner keeps tossing back, too busy trying to breathe with my head between my knees so I don't get sick on the seats.

"Henley?" His obvious worry catches my attention. "What it is?"

Plus, I can hear him through the low static in my ears. Another positive sign. . .more or less. Grimacing, I manage to sit back and hold onto my stomach. Even Barton is casting me a deep, unreadable look, now. Who knows what he might be thinking? He disguises his emotions better than I can.

"You aren't gonna throw up on the leather, are ya?" He wrinkles his nose. "Or blow up the car?" He adds, his muscles suddenly tensing. Like he might honestly leap out the window.

Is he really not going to cut me a break? Seriously, what is his problem?

"I'm not a nuclear reactor, buddy." I grumble, ignoring the sparks dancing across my palms. "I'll be okay, once I have something to eat. I get these headaches. . ." I sigh. "It's a metabolism issue that I'm sure you don't care about."

Silence. So, that wasn't awkwardly horrible. . .

Hey, I'm telling the truth. I mean, snacks do ease the pain sometimes, as bizarre as that sounds. I burn through energy quicker, given my complex structure.

Othertimes, putting some distance between my thoughts and outside electric currents helps, too. But. . .yeah. I'm not gonna be getting away anytime soon. Not inside the City that Never Sleeps. Everyone might die here without electricity.

I mean, I can talk to machines, but at a price. Manipulate a computer? Sure, why not. I'll only have an annoying headache into tomorrow as a result. I don't know why it happens like that, either. . . Maybe, I'm not using these abilities right.

Whatever. I don't know. It's not like I've been able to talk with anyone about these problems. . .ever.

Dr. Banner eventually eases the vehicle into. . .what? Are we in a parking garage? I'm not really paying attention as I listen the humming static. It looks like a garage, with the lights, the other shiny cars. He turns in his seat, brows pulling together over his dark eyes.

"I'm going to have to run some tests on you tomorrorw." He says, apologies in his expression. "It's kinda. . .procedure. Unpleasant procedure, but. . ." He manages a tiny, humorless smile. "I thought I'd give you a heads up. We actually do care about your metabolism issue, Henley. We aren't the bad guys here. I promise."

I nod dully, averting my stare to my shoes. It's not. . . I guess, I want to believe him. I think I almost want to trust him, too. He's been been pretty straight with me this whole time. He seems like he. . .genuinely wants to help. I don't want to make this worse, either, I really don't.

We climb out into the thick, warm night air. Dr. Banner locks the doors. Agent Barton casts his eyes to the nearby exit, where you can barely see the lights, the other cars, zipping through the streets. I sling my pack over my shouders. . .watching him. His set teeth. His storming blue eyes. Dr. Banner walks on towards what must be an elevator, leaving us alone.

I stay there. Quiet. Waiting. Barton shoves his hands in his pockets and shoots me a look. Slight annoyance, I think. It's not so easy to see him when he sticks to the shadows.

"What?" He asks impassively.

Has he truly been like this the entire time? Maybe. . .I didn't notice it then, but his whole damn attitude bothers me. His pleasant mask when we met, trying to lure me in with his bright teeth, his attractive smile. His lame attempt at conversation, back at my house. What did thsoe accomplish?

He never meant. . .he never meant to be nice to me. He only wants something. Everyone only wants something. He treats me like a time bomb. He doesn't. . . He doesn't deserve. . .

"Look. I don't know. . ." I clench my hands, cheeks growing hot. "Fuck."

He blinks. Was he caught by surprise? His eyes widen a little. But, I don't know. I'm not usually so clumsy with my sentences. He has to know this. On the spot, I can always think up something smart, something sarcastic. . . Or, at least, something.

He must know that this is important, then. So, maybe. . .he might believe me. Because, I mean it. I'm an idiot. But I really mean it.

I take a quick breath, shake out a couple sparks, make my mouth say those terrible, terrible words. "I don't know why you hate me so much. But, I'm sorry."

Yeah. His expression is pure, open shock. I'm not completely insensitive, you know. Oh, right. You wouldn't know.

Dr. Banner hits the elevator button and I practically run to catch him, squeezing my scrapbook so tightly to my chest that the edges cut into my arms. Frowning, he holds the doors open, though I almost stumble against him, regardless.

Running. . .not so smart. Not with my head swimming like this. But, hey, the dizzy spells are okay, because. . . I can handle those. I can't handle Barton. I can't handle him, standing there in the gloom, his blue eyes slicing mine apart when the thick doors slide shut.

Seconds pass. Minutes. Dr. Banner cards his hands through his loose curls. "It's not you, Henley." He shakes his head, holding in a sigh. "Two weeks ago, there was a breach in our security systems. Somone got hurt. Someone. . .that we're pretty close with." He hesitates. "We don't quite know how to help her yet."

Oh. I guess that explains what they were talking about, when I woke in the car. But, it doesn't explain anything else. Okay, Clint is hurting. I can understand that. Only, why take it out on me? I didn't break into their systems. . .

I squint at Dr. Banner, trying to piece this together. As the elevator rises, the buzzing seems to lower in volume inside my ears. It doesn't actually disappear, but I can ignore it. Now, as long as I get snacks, I might actually make it to tomorrow alive.

"So, you guys want me to. . .what? Ask your security systems who was responsible?" I deadpan. "Because, it doesn't really work like that, buddy."

He chuckles quietly, though his brown eyes show only sympathy. I wait, but he never answers me. Maybe, he can't. Maybe, he doesn't even know what the boss wants with me. Maybe. . . Not that his silence makes this any better.

High above the city streets, the elevator doors slide open into a wide, cavernous living room. Honestly? I shrink back a little at the sights, because. . . Shit. I think the television screen alone is worth more than my entire house.

"Yeah. First impressions kinda do that to you." Dr. Banner manages an easier smile this time. "Kitchen is over here. . ." He leads me inside, towards a open corriddor that branches to our right.

I stare at everything in amazement. I mean, everything, but the electronics are my top priority. You won't know them even when you see them. I mean, the things I catch are the smallest, most delicate pieces with lights are wires. Seriously. Whoever built the systems in here is my newest hero, kidnapping business aside. All these subtle machinery links are absolutley gorgeous. I can actually sense them pulsing through the levels in the building, through the wires in my bloodstream.

It's almost hypnotic. . .

"Hey, Dr. Banner?" We reach the kitchen. About as grandiose as the living room, by the way. White. Spotless. It even sorta scares me.

He looks over his shoulder with honest amusement. "Bruce, please." He gestures to the marble counter. "I'll grab us something. . . Uh, is pizza okay?"

I take a seat, setting my scrapbook down, letting my backpack drop to the tiles. "Uh, okay. Bruce." I shrug. "Pizza sounds great." Yeah, I can eat almost anything. I'm starving enough not to even care at the moment.

"So. . .where am I?" I continue casually. "You were talking about something like this in the car. Is this SHIELD headquarters?"

He takes the other seat with two pizza boxes in his hands. One cheese. One sausage with onion. I snatch six, hardly batting an eyelash as I chow down. He looks a bit unsure beneath my curious stare.

"You don't know?" He wonders. "You didn't recognize the building?"

One slice gone. His surprise turns to incredulity as I drain the soda he brought over, too, in a couple annoying slurps. ". . .no?" I set into my next slice, already breathing lighter through the receeding pain.

Not that it ever truly goes away. Not quite. I'm only happy that eating seems to be helping the ache. . .

Bruce takes his third bite. I'm working into my last slice when he, in the lightest tone possible, says, "We're in Stark Tower, Henley."

I drop my pizza. With excellent timing, too, since Mr. Tony Stark walks into the kitchen as soon as the sausages splat against the clean white tiles. He blinks at me. I blink in pathetic shock at him.

So. . . I guess that explains a couple more things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Again, guys: you totally rock. So glad that everyone likes this weird idea of mine so far! Anyhow, to the Anon who asked who may have hacked into SHIELD. . . Well. You'll just have to wait and see =D**

**Warning[s]: Some Language. No Cap, again. . . But, he will DEFINITELY be in the next one. Promise! Also, awkward OC being awkward.**

**Enjoy!**

**Entry #4. Reboot Systems.**

Stark Tower. Huh. Also, Tony Stark. I don't even. . .yeah. So, the Avengers are probably here, too. Which is. . . Shit. What do I say to that? It's not like I don't know what went on with those aliens last year. Awkwardly, I clear my throat in the answering silence.

"Hey, Tony." Bruce greets, with no issue whatsoever. He eats his pizza, expression content. Maybe, hinting towards amusement, as he takes in my reaction.

I remember my pizza, though. "I didn't do it on purpose." I blurt out, dropping to my knees to clean the mess. "You can't hold me accountable on any grounds."

As I get back up, Stark has his hands on his hips. "Okay, her eyes are glowing. Seriously. Big. Green. Glowing." Pause. "Bruce, honey. . ." He clears his throat, raising a suspicious eyebrow in my direction. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

Apparently, this behavior is Stark Standards. Bruce only blinks at the endearment, smiling blandly as he gestures between Stark and I. "Tony, Henley. Henley, Tony Stark. Which you probably already know."

Stark snorts. "How couldn't she know? Anyways, don't. Stop with the distractions, Banner. Her eyes are glowing. When did that start happening? We didn't discuss this at the last team pep rally." He accuses, moving closer to lean against the counter.

His gaze is sharp, unblinking, probing through mine like he might discover the lost universe secrets inside my brain. I know that look, too. Sloane calls it my Mad Scientist Expression. It's. . .strange, being the one under the microscope this time. Yeah, I don't really like it much.

"Tony, you weren't even at the last meeting." Bruce remarks, voice dry. He throws the pizza boxes out, then approaches us again with his arms over his chest. "Besides, no one knew. It took Clint and I by surprise today, too."

I shoulder my backpack, scowling amidst my blush. "Also, the one you happen to be talking about can hear you." I grumble. "I've got spare contacts in my bag, okay? You don't have to stare at me like that."

Right. Mr. Stark might be awesome, it kinda goes together with the whole arrogant genius package. He also might serve as the inspiration in my experiments. . . But, I don't turn into some squealing, starstruck teenager with a crush in his presence.

. . .not on the outside, at least. Because, my pulse is kinda racing, electric impulses are swarming my wires, and I am well aware that my cheeks are reddening like damn stop lights.

_"Miss Henley? I don't mean to be rude, but you seem to be. . .ritarato la mia lingua principale impostazioni."_ [. . .recalibrating my primary language settings].

I give a sudden twitch. Because. . .the ceiling is speaking with an accent. British. Wait, what was that? I look up, as does Stark, though he does so in clear bewilderment.

"Miss Henley? What?" Frowning, Stark shoots me a look. "Hey, Sparky. Are you doing this?"

Wow. Talk about embarrassing. What the hell? I mean, these currents might give me issues on occassion, but the last two days seem to be setting records. Healing my palms? Blowing out those streetlamps? All this pain, this static, even the sporradic sparks buzzing across my hands? Something is seriously wrong, here.

Now, I'm making AI voices speak Italian. Maybe, having Bruce run thoses tests tomorrow will actually help me out. . .

"Not on purpose!" I try not to stammer, heart thundering nervously. "It's been a really long couple days, okay? I'm running on smoke, here."

Bruce steps up on my right. He gives Stark a look back, though his mouth is quirking slightly to one side. "She needs a place to crash tonight. We're talking with Director Fury about this in the morning."

Stark shrugs. "Sure, why not. As long as you don't. . ." He eyes the greenish sparks that zip and zap near my skin. ". . .scratch that. JARVIS? Are you speaking English again?"

_"Yes, sir, I am. By the way, it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Henley."_ JARVIS intones, manners impeccable.

His smooth, calm tones make my synapses buzz oddly. Not in an unpleasant way, not like that. . . It is strange, though. His senses are almost human. Friendly. Inquisitive. Hidden inside his impassive programs, he seems as warily curious about me as I am about him.

"Uh, hey. Nice to meet you, too, JARVIS." I stare at the corner speaker intently, missing Stark and Bruce exchanging silent glances. "Sorry about the Italian. I. . .wasn't really expecting anything like you in this place."

He hums with slight humor. _"It's quite all right. I wasn't quite expecting this encounter with someone like you, either."_ He pauses. _"On your earlier note, Mr. Stark, the ceiling extinguishers are available in the spare room above the workshop. May I suggest having Miss Henley stay there?"_

Stark nods, eyes wide. Or, he moves his chin in a pretty awkward manner. Bruce has to hide his mouth inside his hand as he glances away. Is he laughing? Yeah, he's laughing at me. Man, I thought we were on the same side. . .

"What the hell was that?" Stark asks bluntly. "I mean, yeah. Sparky stays there. But, no more, you two. Flirting with my AI when I'm in the room?" He shakes his head at me, though I can see the smirk burning inside his eyes. "Not something I really want to take part in, guys."

I stare at him, because. . . "What?" I deadpan.

Bruce shrugs, patting my shoulder gently as my eye twitches. "Don't worry." He manages to keep a straight expression, but his uncommon grin threatens to make another reappearance. "Tony is. . . Yeah." He coughs. "You get used to it."

_"I must agree with Dr. Banner, Miss Henley."_ JARVIS adds lightly. _"He generally means no harm."_

Stark scowls and throws his arms into that air. "Fine. Fine! Gang up on me, then turn my own AI against me. . . I see how you operate, Sparky." He points at me. "Come on. Room is this way. Oh, don't touch anything that you don't recognize, either. You might burn the whole building down."

What the. . . I snatch my scrapbook, hurrying to keep up with him. "G'night, Bruce." I say over my shoulder. It takes what little energy I have to simply keep my brains working, let alone do anything else. Stark is like the brilliant reactor in his chest, always going, always shining. He seems to encompass everyone and everything no matter where he goes.

"See you in the morning, Henley." Bruce waves back.

Right. Morning. At least. . . I'll know one nice person when I meet the bossman. Gulping anxiously, I eventually match pace with Stark in the long, quiet hallway.

"I saw you on the news tonight, kiddo." He begins, like he might be talking about the weather. His brow arch above his dark, dark eyes. Even darker brown than Bruce. "You make a habit outta blowing up colleges?"

It's hard to get a sense on him, to be honest. He's kinda like me, with the attitude masking his true emotions. I squint back at him, holding my scrapbook close to my chest on instinct.

"You see me on the news more than once?" I wrinkle my nose in annoyance.

Stark pauses to think. "Not that it means anything. . . But, no. Not in recent memory. You might have been in disguise."

I snort. "Yeah, okay. Any other unexplainable college explosions on the news? Fine. I take responsibility."

He waves towards an open door near the corner walls. Inside, it seems pretty simple in comparison to the other rooms. . .but, classic. Light colors. Wooden accents. I actually like it.

"Hmm." He rubs his chin as we pause in the doorway. "Why do I detect sarcasm in your voice? I don't think I like that very much."

I take a step past him into the room. "Sarcasm? No, not me, buddy." With a salute and a slight smirk, I start closing the door in goodbye. Really, I want some time alone. I have to think. . .about everything.

"Um. . .thanks." I conclude, a bit more awkwardly than I was hoping. "See you in the morning?"

He nods, arms crossing over his rock concert shirt. Metallica. Ride the Lightning? Seriously? I can't believe I didn't notice that earlier. . .

"Don't mention it, Sparky." He shrugs. "Yeah. I'll be there." But, suddenly he startles me when he reaches out to clap my shoulder. "Relax, okay? It's only gonna be worse than you think, tomorrow. Probably, a lot worse. So. . ." He blows out a dramatic breath. "No worries."

Uh. . . I stare at him, slow horror like sludge dripping through my wires. Figures, though. He throws me a wink, which completely negates his last statement. It also has me considering what I might be able to get away with chucking at his head as he walks away.

"'Night, kiddo." He calls.

Yeah, right. I don't think I'm going to be sleeping, now. . . Even though I'm pretty much sore and aching everywhere, my thoughts keeping buzzing like the static humming in my ears. I close the door, toss my things onto the pale green blankets, then collapse down next to them to stare at the ceiling.

It's quiet in here. I usually have the television on in my room, or the music. . .or something. Anything to keep my synapses active. It helps me calm down, which I kinda have to. . . Otherwise, I might throw up with nervousness.

I rub my eyes, then squint them shut as I keep my hands over them. With a slight, dry mouth, a couple strange clicks reverberate inside my throat. I guess, the best way to describe the sounds are these. . .metallic like chatters. I don't know. But, the noises operate on low wavelengths that can directly communicate with electronics.

As I click, the lights dim inside the room to a more bearable setting. It does hurt, though. Evidently, people aren't really equipt to make noises like that. Minutes at a time can give me an annoying sore throat. Any longer than twenty, my voice starts to go. Any longer than thirty. . . I start tasting rust leaking through my mouth.

So, yeah. I only do simple commands. Like, the lights, or the stereo, or the microwave, things like that.

". . .hey." I hesitate, peeking through my hands. "JARVIS?"

Currents buzz and brighten across the walls. I watch them with distant interest, still too busy dwelling on tomorrow.

_"Yes, Miss Henley?"_ He asks. His polite curiosity spikes as the silence lengthens. _"Is something the matter?"_

I sigh, then roll onto my stomach. "Other than the obvious, you mean?" With an elbow, I knock my bag to the carpet, but draw my scrapbook closer. "It doesn't matter. Um, do you have any music that you can play in here?" I open the worn leather cover, trying to stay as calm as possible. . .

But, it's not really working.

_"I do have multiple playlists that you may wish to browse."_ JARVIS suggests. _"Something with strings, perhaps?"_

What? How did he. . ? I shoot a look at the currents as they pulse against the clean, white paint. His own synapses hum with distinct humor at my bewilderment.

_"You don't usually interact with AI Programs, I presume?"_ He guesses. _"I can sense your presence in the same way that you can sense mine. You were broadcasting your unease quite loudly through my system."_

Oh. I never. . . Huh. I mean, it's true. I only talk with ordinary machinery. . .but I never thought that these abilties might work both ways. How incredibly humiliating, too. I bump my brow against the scrapbook pages, cheeks burning hot enough to melt the plastic.

"Yeah. . . Hey, about that." I cough. "Sorry. I had no idea, really."

But, how the hell am I going to think quieter? Can anyone actually help that? Or, wait. Most people don't have to worry about thinking quietly, do they? So, it's only me. Again. Great.

_"It's not a problem, Miss Henley."_ JARVIS assures. His tones are warm, methodic. I can see dizzy, starlike patterns in his currents. It's pretty easy, letting them wash through the damn static in my brain like a lullaby. "_Mr. Stark does have some soundtracks in the database that might be to your liking. May I choose something?"_

I nod against my book, not bothering to move. Fingers trace against the pictures, the drawings, the articles, like they know the simple routes by heart. "Please." I mutter, with another dull blush.

Moments later, a light, whispering piano brushes away the silence. With weary limbs, I dress into the spare sweats and sports shirt I brought with me. It's my clothing, sure, but they don't. . . I don't know. It's a nice room, a nice place. . .

Sighing, I climb back onto the blankets. Violins overtake the music with gentle, sweeping harmonies. Sloane hates tracks like these. Apparently, without the heavy bass or screaming lyrics, he loses interest. He constantly teases me about the video game albums that I get. . .

Fuck. I can't believe how much I miss him.

It takes a long time. Hours, maybe, when I notice the room beginning to blur. Eventually, I drop into a restless sleep, clutching a certain photograph to my chest with two lame kids sticking their tongues out at the camera.


End file.
